


it's a date

by bodtlings



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, M/M, Medical, Mutual Pining, Setting - Urgent Care, Stitches, gaaaaaaaaay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 20:20:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13084611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodtlings/pseuds/bodtlings
Summary: Jean and Marco have been working together for three years at an urgent care and their stupid crushes become Too Much.





	it's a date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bismuthsnowflakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bismuthsnowflakes/gifts).



> hi louis, i’m ur jm secret santa for this year! i saw that ur first prompt included emergency care workers, and altho i’m not very familiar with EMTs and hospitals, i happen to work in an urgent care, so i was giggling a little to see that i could apply some of my GREAT WISDOM to this prompt.
> 
> !!! please note, i am tagging for brief of blood and stitches. if u are not good with medical settings, pls take care of urself and don’t read! thx xo !!!
> 
> that being said i hope u have absolutely splendid holidays this year! i am sending my best and well wishes to u and urs and hope u enjoy this little thing of mine. and happy holidays to all who are here and reading as well—cheers! <3
> 
> find me on: [tumblr](bodtlings.tumblr.com) // [twitter](https://twitter.com/hajimetxt)  
> find louis on: [tumblr](bismuthsnowflakes.tumblr.com)

“Ma’am, like I said, we can do stitches, but not on the face. You’d have to go to the emergency room, where they can contact a plastic surgeon to ensure that there will be no scarring.”

“But it’s not on his face, it’s on his chin!”

“Ma’am, the chin is still part of the face.”

The woman standing on the other side of the front desk from Jean huffs and applies more gauze to her son’s bleeding face, and Jean would have more sympathy if not for the glaring stupidity of this mother’s decision to not go straight to the hospital. She cups her hand around her son’s chin with the gauze turning pink where his blood soaks through, and with as much malice as she could muster in her frantic worrying, says to Jean, “I’m never coming here again.”

Jean crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, hearing it squeak as the back begins to tip. “Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

“No!” And with that final outburst, she rushes out of the glass doors with her son attached to her hip. Jean watches them hurry out of the parking lot and into traffic, cutting off a streamline of cars and going in the opposite direction of the nearest hospital.

“No wait, come back, wrong way,” Jean mutters to himself and huffs, returning to where he left off in his book.

The remaining patients sitting in the waiting room go back to their distractions—a magazine, a book, their phones—and Jean hears soft footfalls walking towards him from the hall to his left. 

“What was that all about?”

Marco Bodt, in all his freckled glory, walks up behind the desk and leans against the protruding section away from the computer. Jean’s mood is immediately uplifted; it always is when his shifts coincide with Marco’s, even if only for the evening.

Jean runs a hand down his face in exaggerated disbelief. “Kid split his chin doing who-knows-what and needed stitches.”

Marco winces, personally saddened by the fact that he couldn’t help the woman’s son. “When will they ever learn,” he mumbles to himself.

“When they realize that urgent care centers aren’t emergency rooms.”

“No, you idiot,” Marco chuckles, swatting Jean’s arm. “I meant the kids. When will they ever learn to be careful.”

“Never ever.” Jean grins up at Marco, who rolls his eyes. 

It’s been three years since Jean and Marco began working together at a small little urgent care facility located in a busy town with plenty of people to tend to. Jean came first, training as a receptionist to help pay his way through college, and stayed because the pay was relatively decent. He has no desire to pursue medicine of any kind, but he appreciates the busy work it can bring. Mostly, he gets paid to read at the desk when it’s quiet, which is more often than not, and that’s just fine with him.

A few others were hired after Jean, and once Jean was just starting to get the hang on his position, Marco was hired as a medical assistant. Jean will never forget the day Marco Bodt showed up to the front desk wearing a crisp suit and telling Jean he was looking for Laura, the manager in charge of conducting the interviews. Jean was speechless, both because of how stunning he looked, and also because he’d shoved an entire pop tart into his mouth before the door opened. 

Marco was hired almost immediately—certainly the fastest of all the other employees—and it was Jean’s job to show him the ropes.

First, Marco had to be trained as a receptionist. Jean always thought it was kind of stupid, but it made sense; Jean’s job was the introductory position, the one everyone had to learn before moving on to the back to be a lab tech or scribe or medical assistant. Jean taught Marco how to use the electronic medical records system, all the state-mandated HIPAA rules, which insurances they take and which they don’t, and how to register and discharge patients. He was quite good at it too; Marco learned fairly quickly, and Jean’s crush slowly bloomed every time Marco leaned over into his space to point at the computer screen and ask a question.

And thus, Jean’s hopeless pining over Marco was formed. It’s been a solid three years, and he still hasn’t the nerve to say anything. 

But it’s in small moments like these, when the office is quiet, no screaming children are in the rooms, and the music overhead is just soft enough to not be annoying, that Jean lets down his guard and lets himself be comfortable with the boy he just wants to hold hands with. 

As Jean watches Marco look out the window, he tilts his head and huffs. With a quick swat of his fingers, he brushes his book away from the computer keyboard and types Netflix into the address bar. Marco hears Jean’s rapid-fire typing and turns his attention to his companion, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna watch Netflix, what does it look like I’m doing?” True to his word, Jean pulls up The Office and cheerfully sings along (terribly) to the theme song as it buzzes from below the desk.

“Jean, we’re working.”

“ _ Marco, _ we’re bored as fuck. C’mon, this is where Michael proposes to Holly, you love this one.”

Marco slides on top of the desk next to Jean and leans back on the rising piece, swinging his legs so his foot keeps kicking the side of Jean’s chair. “You know this one makes me cry, pick a different one.”

“Nope, suffer.”

“ _ Jean. _ ”

Jean shakes his head and leans further back in his chair, crossing his legs and propping his ankles on the handle of a drawer. “I can’t wait for the candles.” Marco makes some groan of defeat and Jean smiles, sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye because really, he might not like The Office as much as Marco does, but he’d watch it a million times if only to watch his reactions.

Two hours pass with ease and the pair continue to watch episodes of the comedy in between registering and discharging the few patients who come in. With ten minutes left to spare before the doors close for the night, one more patient manages to slip in before the doors can be locked, and Jean groans in annoyance.

“Don’t these fuckers know how to use Google to see what fucking time we close?” he mutters to himself, and registers the patient as quickly as possible so he can go home that much faster.

After the man is led into an examination room by one of the scribes, Marco comes around the corner and asks, “Did someone just walk in?”

“Yeah, some idiot with a sore fuckin throat. Unbelievable.”

“Don’t they know drug stores exist,” Marco comments right before he goes back to the lab.

Marco sits at his small portion of the desk in the open room behind the front desk and sighs. Tonight was going to be the night he  _ finally _ got the nerve to ask Jean to—well, he doesn’t know what, but it was going to be to do  _ something _ . It’s been agony: nearly all his shifts have coincided with Jean’s for years, and what he thought would be just a fun work friendship turned into something far more dangerous. Marco playfully flirts with him around the office for the occasional giggle and because Jean’s proven he’s so much fun to tease, but somewhere, that harmless attitude turned into something bigger. And now? Now it takes everything in Marco just to keep his hands to himself. 

Marco bites his lip and begins to clean up his desk for the night. He’s off tomorrow, and from the look of the schedule so is Jean. The school notes he studies when he has lunch or a minute to breathe go into his backpack, he slips on his gloves and jacket, and knots the scarf around his mouth to keep the chill out of his collar. Brief goodnights are given to the other tired coworkers in the lab, and Marco heads up to the front of the building to say goodbye to their manager. 

Jean watches Marco go with a wave. As much as he wants to go home, he also hates having to watch Marco leave. On the rare occasion they walk out of the building and to their cars together, Jean lets himself imagine what it would be like if it was just one car they were going to. He’s never let himself think about where they would go.

After the last patient is discharged and cleaning is done for the night, Jean clocks out and wishes everyone goodnight. He leaves out the side door by the lab sample boxes, makes sure their locked, and fishes for his keys in his coat pocket.

  
“Wait!”

Jean turns around, and huffing out clouds of breath is Marco, hands on his knees and leaning over to catch his breath. He had left the office around forty minutes ago, and Jean’s not sure what he’s still doing here. So, appropriately, he asks, “Marco? What are you still doing here?”

“I came...to ask...a question,” Marco pants in between breaths.

“Okay okay, take it easy, buddy.” Jean walks over to Marco and gently places his hand on Marco’s back. “One step at a time.”

Marco gets his breath back after a few moments, and as he straightens up, Jean’s hand falls away. “I was gonna go home.”

“Right, like you were supposed to.”

“Right,” Marco confirms. “I was gonna go home like I was supposed to but I figured…” Marco pauses, and Jean can see he’s hesitating.

“Go on,” Jean urges, heart fluttering with feathered hope.

“I figured you might want to do something tomorrow? With me?” Marco looks inquisitive, and he clasps his hands together in front of him. “We don’t work tomorrow, and I thought it would be nice if we could, I don’t know, get a drink or dinner or do something. Not that I’m a creep because I was looking your name up on the schedule, which does actually sound creepy, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to, I was—”

Jean begins to laugh a laugh of relief and nods. “You’re not a creep, just kind of a weirdo.” Mimicking Marco, Jean pauses and grins. “This sounds like a  _ date, _ ” which he says just to tease Marco, like he’s so fond of doing, but to Jean’s utter surprise, Marco nods to confirm.

And then it hits him: Marco just asked Jean out on a date. A  _ date _ . An actual, no work-flirting, patient-screaming, annoying-child-who-needs-stitches-but-can’t-get-them-here date. 

In a fit of spontaneity that is so unlike Jean in every form, Jean grabs Marco’s clasped hands in his own and nods. “It’s a date, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> can u believe i had to tell a woman one time that a chin is still part of the face? incredible.


End file.
